Brick and Mortar
by Napisala
Summary: They were no longer coworkers so they couldn't blame Rule 12 for separating them - it was time to call a spade a spade. What if Tony & Ziva had their heart-to-heart before she went to Tel Aviv? Sometimes things do get awkward between friends, especially when they can't stop putting up walls to protect themselves. Can friendship and love survive?


_A/N: I wouldn't call this a TIVA story, so you may not wish to read further if that's what you came looking for. Originally intended this to be the next part of my 'In Which' series but it grew and grew until I thought it should stand alone._  
_**BEFORE YOU READ**: My thoughts on TIVA are that all the people who love this pairing got jerked around by the NCIS writers/producers who counted on that 'will they/won't they' mystery to keep viewers tuning in. I'm sure the plan was for them to end up together, but they kept putting it off, creating reasons and meanness to keep them apart. As a result, they got burned when Cote left the show and they also created some moments between the characters that I feel were 'unhealthy'._  
_I think the characters could have been great together, but this story is an acknowledgement of the issues caused by those less than savory moments. All that said, I don't hate TIVA, so no "TIVA4EVR" type ranting or flaming, please and thank you._

_The story technically takes place between seasons 10 &amp; 11, which was months for us but not even a day in the NCIS timeline._  
_Sorry for the long note, on to the story!_

* * *

The sun was shining, birds were singing, flowers were in full bloom - the city on a whole seemed to be blossoming with all the joy of a bright spring day. Tony barely repressed a sigh as he stepped off the bus, affixing his sunglasses firmly to his face. His destination was only a few blocks from where he'd exited the bus, but he walked at a leisurely pace hoping to find enough time to get his thoughts in order.

What a joke that was. How could he get his thoughts in order when his life was in such disorder? On the plus side though, for once in his life he wasn't adding self-flagellation to the heap of recent issues. He and guilt were old friends, bedmates really, and he'd combed through his actions of the past year with a fine-toothed comb for some nugget to feed that erstwhile lover and come up empty. He wasn't perfect by any means, but he could honestly say that he'd done everything he could as a man, an agent, a teammate and friend to support everyone and everything that mattered to him.

So much of what he'd been called to do had been reactionary to a wide range of troubling scenarios - from the devastating terrorist attack on the Navy Yard, his own father being accused of murder, Tim confronting the Admiral, Ziva and the Director having their families torn apart by violence all the way to this attack on Gibbs' career - and through it all he believed he had answered the call, lived up to the promise he made to himself when he'd walked out of that wrecked elevator a year ago. To be a better man.

That accomplishment was no small comfort, Tony was proud of himself. And yet everything was still in shambles; no amount of goodness or effort on his part had changed that. Just days ago he, Tim, and Ziva had turned in their badges rather than watch their boss walk the proverbial plank, so at the moment he had no job, no tangible connection to the closest thing to a family he'd ever known. Not to mention that the emotional upheaval Ziva had experienced following the death of her father and the harrowing task of meting out vengeance on his killer had snuffed out any of the openness he'd been trying to foster in that relationship. The 'post-elevator us' had taken a mighty blow indeed.

Ziva had called him this morning, asked if he could spare her some time, promising him a delicious brunch in exchange. A few months ago such an invite would have brought him joy. Today though it set his gut twisting, NCIS resignation be damned. There was nothing for it though, of course he would go and hear what his partner had to say.

The food was heavenly. It was no secret that the Israeli was an excellent cook, and today's meal was no exception. Her take on eggs benedict was quickly devoured; silky hollandaise sauce draped over a perfectly poached egg laying on a bed of salty smoked salmon and a fluffy potato pancake studded with chives deserved no less. This she'd followed up with a small stack of crepes for them to share, with nutella, fresh berries and homemade whipped cream on the side. That and the pitcher of grapefruit prosecco sangria they were quickly going through were further proof that she'd gone all out. Savory, sweet, citrusy…every portion of this meal had been seen through down to the smallest detail.

This was no sudden invitation. Tony had known as much the moment she'd asked, but with such irrefutable evidence before him, he could no longer hold back his curiosity.

"Okay Ziva, what gives?"

"What gives what, Tony?"

The atmosphere up to now had been relaxed if subdued and Ziva's response was every bit as coy as Tony had come to expect over the years, but it felt forced. Not only that but he'd picked up the slight straightening of her posture, a sure sign she was preparing herself for battle. Against whom or what he could not be certain; he only knew he wasn't in the mood for their usual games.

"Over the phone you made this whole brunch thing sound very impromptu but that meal was planned meticulously, there's no way you just threw it together."

"Such care on the part of a hostess usually merits thanks, not an interrogation."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I have thanked you, and I'll say it again - thank you, everything was delicious. Now, why am I here, Ziva?"

She looked at him uncertainly then, her eyes quickly dropping away from his to watch her own hands playing with the top of the tablecloth. "I had hoped to speak with you, about a number of things actually, and I thought it best that I put you in a good mood with a fine meal first."

"Okay, part one accomplished, what did you want to talk about?"

Ziva scoffed lightly. "You are hardly in a good mood, Tony. You have not been for weeks now."

"Well, Zee-vah, there's been quite a lot going on, I can't say that any of us are in a good mood of late."

"Yes Tony, that it is true, but you have been…distant with me, ever since Parsons questioned me about Adam." Their eyes met across the table and it was Tony who looked away first this time. "I know that you are angry with me."

"Don't see how you could possibly 'know' that when it's not true, I'm not mad at you."

"Tony -"

"Ziva, I mean it, I'm not mad at you. We're teammates and friends and even if I thought we were working toward something, we never made any promises to each other. I get it, okay. Your whole life got turned on its head and even ninjas get shook up. Your foundation got rocked and Adam was…well, he just was, I guess."

She could tell that his words had cost him, and that he didn't want her to know that they had.

"I am sorry, Tony. I would not wish to cause you pain."

"So you've said. You don't owe me any apologies or explanations. Like I said, it was nothing you did to me."

Words were so inadequate. She hated every word that he built up between them like bricks, walling himself away from her. She hated every word from her own mouth, insufficient to make amends and bridge the widening gap between them.

It reminded her of the times her mother had taken her to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem when she was a little girl. Rivka read her daughter the account of Hannah pouring her heart out to God in the temple, crying out her grief over the barrenness she suffered. In time God noticed his faithful servant girl, and she gave birth to Samuel, who would become a prophet and leader of the nation. She taught Ziva to envision the massive stones of the wall as bearing up her heaviest sins and deepest fears. The object lesson had done much to bolser the faith of a young Ziva David, but all that she had seen and done in her life had largely eroded much of her spiritual leanings.

Where Rivka had used one wall as a physical representation of a connection to a higher power, she and Tony were symbolically building a wall structure that would ultimately divide them, and she had no idea how to change that. She could feel the intensity of his energy on the other side of it, but could not decipher its intent. He had always been like that to be honest, coiled like a spring, one could never predict which way he would bounce, or which aspect of his mercurial nature would come to the fore.

"Even if you are not angry at me, you are angry, Tony. Why?"

"Mad at myself, to an extent. Mad at Gibbs."

She interrupted in her shock, "Gibbs? Why Gibbs?"

"Every time I start to believe that rule 12 is stupid and short-sighted, something proves to me that the Boss does know best after all." His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin that only hurt them both.

"We are not coworkers now."

"True. But this wasn't a date and you didn't invite me here to ask me out on one." Mortar. Brick. "What else did you want to talk about?"

Ziva busied herself with topping off their drinks, emptying the pitcher on the table. "With our recent change in job status, I thought now would be a good time to travel to Israel."

"Get in touch with your roots?"

"Yes, in a way. I wish to make peace with my family."

Tony's brows knitted in confusion. "Somebody there giving you trouble? An aunt or a cousin?"

"No, nothing like that. They are all there now, my family…Eli and my mother, Tali and Ari. They have all died in violence. This year has been filled with violence. I wish to find peace and bring it to them, as it were. I am the last of them, and it is the least that I can do."

He had stared at her unflinchingly through her explanation and now nodded his support. "Then that's what you should do. I hope you find everything you're looking for while you're there."

Her answering smile was grateful, "Thank you, Tony."

"When's your flight?"

"I leave tomorrow, it is why I wished to see you today."

She began to fidget again (as much as Ziva could ever fidget anyhow) and his suspicions grew anew. "What, you need me to do something?"

"No, it is not that. As I said, this seemed the right time once I turned in my badge at NCIS. Nothing is certain right now, and it did not seem prudent to pay for this apartment while I was half a world away. My lease would be up next month in any case, and my landlord has agreed to give me an early release. The ticket I purchased for Israel is open-ended." Mortar. Brick. Next level.

"You mean it's one-way."

"No, I mean that it is open-ended. I have paid for my return trip. When I am ready to come back the airline will honor my ticket on any flight with available seats."

All the goodwill he'd been feeling about her trip just moments earlier evaporated in an instant. No matter how she phrased it, she was running, and he wanted to berate her for her choice. His mind filtered through the various trips she had taken to Israel since he'd come to know her, had any of them resulted in good? Her reassignment after Jenny died had nearly led to her own death while working for Mossad in Morocco. Her subsequent vacation in Israel had placed her firmly in the clutches of her father and Michael Rivkin. He'd been there on the following occasion, handed to Director David on a platter after killing Rivkin. Ziva had held him at gunpoint then, decided she'd rather stay behind than work alongside him another day and ended up a captive in a terrorist camp for her troubles. Even her last trip to bury her father had led to the discord between them, not just because she'd slept with Adam Eschel - though of course that chafed - but because she couldn't put faith in his promise that she was not alone.

He had wanted to walk beside her, to prove to her that he would have her six in every aspect of life, that he was willing to take her by the hand and walk her through the rubble if that's what she needed at any given moment, but she had denied him that chance. This was the pattern. He wasn't blind to his own faults, knew that he'd hurt her as well through the years, that his immaturity and fear of commitment were also causes for the stalemate they'd engaged in all this time. But it seemed that every time Ziva had to choose between trusting him and doing something else, she never chose him.

So as much as he wanted to rant and rail, he merely looked around her still cozy apartment and raised an eyebrow, "seems you've got a lot of packing to do if you plan to vacate the premises and ship off to Israel in a day."

Ziva looked as though she had been expecting him to say more, but she adjusted quickly. "As my things are in excellent condition, the landlord will rent to the next tenant fully furnished. In return I will not have to forfeit my security deposit."

"Sweet deal."

"Yes, I thought so as well."

An uneasy silence settled between them so Tony put his hands on his knees and made to stand up, "You probably have lots to do, let me help you clear up at least." And on and on the wall was built.

He gathered up dirty plates and silverware, and though he only went to her kitchen, watching him walk away made her unaccountably melancholy. She soon gathered herself, stacking a few bowls and grabbing the pitcher, following him to put them in the sink. Just two more trips and she'd managed to bring in everything, wrapping the last of the crepes in foil, scraping away any other remnants into the trash. Meanwhile he'd begun to wash the dishes and she smiled wistfully at the domesticity of the entire scene.

"You said earlier that you were angry with yourself."

Her voice softly broke the silence and mentally he cursed, figures she hadn't missed that and that she would bring it up when he was effectively trapped with his hands in the soapy water.

"Yeah."

"Why, Tony?"

"Simple: I should have known better."

Ziva was tired and stressed and worn thin, quite frankly she'd had enough. "That is not simple! What does that mean, Tony? Why can you not just speak plainly?"

Unruffled by her outburst, Tony only looked at her with a raised eyebrow and pointed a soapy finger in her direction. "Pot. Kettle."

She spared a moment to growl out her frustration before demanding in a hard voice, "what is it that you should have known?"

Infuriatingly, Tony still appeared largely unimpressed with her temper. He looked at her with a self-deprecating smile that she was all too familiar with, "these things never end well for me, you see, and by now I should have known not to get my hopes up."

"That is a very pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Actually no, it's not, it's realistic. Thinking otherwise was overly optimistic and a sure recipe for disaster."

Ziva spluttered indignantly and stalked over to crowd him by the sink, "how many times must I apologize for it to get through to you? It was wrong of me to hurt you but I never meant to do it!"

Rinsing off the last glass, he set it on the drying rack before rounding on her angrily. "Since we're in the business of speaking plainly now, that's actually the first time you've apologized for hurting me! You were 'sorry if I'd gotten hurt' and you 'did not wish to cause me pain', but that's the first damn time that you came out and acknowledged that yes, what you did hurt me. But I still don't need you to apologize for it, because it wouldn't have hurt in the first place if I hadn't gotten my hopes up!"

"What are you saying? Are you accusing me -"

"Dana Hutton!"

Momentary confusion temporarily stopped her bluster. "What? Who? What about Dana Hutton?"

"Dana Hutton, the reporter who went AWOL after her brother died and then died herself from ricin poisoning by that old KGB hag."

"Yes, yes, I remember who she is now, the reporter who you became obsessed with when she disappeared, what about Dana Hutton?"

"Good, I remember a lot of things too. I remember processing the scene where Lt. Hutton died, do you? Do you remember what you asked me? You wanted to know what I was looking for in Miss Right, and stupid me answers you seriously, lists off all these positive attributes, I describe YOU, I all but say that her name would be 'Ziva'. Remember how you answered? You wanted to know what a woman like that would possibly see in me! Right there, you told me everything I would ever need to know. I couldn't answer you then and I can't answer you now. You couldn't possibly be attracted to my brain because a smart man would have taken the hint and damn well known better by now!"

There was so much more he could have said and very nearly did. He had his theories; the sexual tension between them existed from the moment they met and still simmered eight years later, they'd been through difficult things as team creating a bond of shared experience, not to mention that the nature of their work often forced them together and largely isolated them from the outside world for big blocks of time. All this combined to create a cauldron of passion and admiration that had threatened to bubble over more than once over the years but never had. Circumstance had cooled things down more than once, but the way Tony saw it, Ziva had always believed that she was better than him and that she deserved better than him. He could hold her interest for a time but the moment something better came along, her attentions would be focused elsewhere.

Ziva on the other hand had been stunned into silence, her harsh words of years ago hitting her like a slap in the face. She remembered that case all too well. She recalled being irritated with him on the morning in question, frustrated by his cavalier attitude towards Brenda Bittner, dating and women in general, and she'd lashed out at him in her frustration. The words she'd meant as a comment on his womanizing were taken as an attack on his person. She remembered her growing worry as he became increasingly obsessed with the absent reporter, watching his unhealthy fascination with the beautiful woman and ruthlessly squelching any desire she had for him to look at her that way.

So many misunderstandings. The longer she looked at the wall dividing them, the higher it seemed to stretch above them.

"Ziva." His quiet voice interrupted her musings and she looked up at him through her lashes, silently waiting for him to go on.

"Ziva, whatever was or could have been…it, it doesn't matter as much as us being partners and friends, okay? No matter what happens, that doesn't change, does it?"

She shook her head adamantly and spoke in a voice choked with emotion, "no, never."

He kissed her forehead just as he had done in the glade near Gibbs' cabin and she let herself fall against him, grateful when he did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her. This was not a pleasure she had availed herself of often throughout their partnership so now she took the time to catalog the memory.

"I really do hope your time in Israel is everything you hope it will be." He stepped back, holding her at arm's length by her shoulders. "Be safe, Ziva David. Promise me that you'll watch your six?"

Her smile was shaky but true, "yes Tony, I promise."

He nodded once and released her, moving from the kitchen toward her doorway to get his shoes. "You'll tell the others?"

"Yes, I will call Abby and McGee tonight. I think I will speak to Ducky in the morning, I have a late flight."

"What about Gibbs?"

"I believe he has enough to deal with at the moment. But we will speak in time I am sure."

Tony slipped into his jacket and shook off the still foreign feeling of going into the world without a weapon at his hip (not counting his trusty knife, of course; rule #9 was a rule of life).

He paused at the door to take a last look at Ziva. For all that she had her return ticket bought and paid for, everything in him said that this was goodbye, if not forever then at least for a very long time. He was sorry that they'd shouted at each other. He didn't regret anything he said and doubted she did either. There was a measure of closure in giving voice to thoughts long bottled inside but for all that still remained unsaid, it was possible that those angry words could have remained in the dark as well.

What was clear was that they seemed destined to be always in different places: geographically, mentally, emotionally, romantically. Professionally though, they had been part of a formidable team and while a part of him would grieve missed opportunities, he would always think of her as family.

"Bye, Ziva." Mortar.

"Goodbye, Tony." Brick.

Ziva watched him go till he disappeared down the steps, she closed the door behind him and leaned against it. She was not blind to the air of finality in their parting, could not ignore the deep pang caused by such musings.

The wall loomed above her like a living, breathing thing. Rather than allow its sheer size to suffocate her or to become dizzy at its height, she redirected her thoughts, mentally making a list of the things she needed to accomplish by tomorrow. She pushed herself up off the door and headed to her bedroom to get started.

And she moved on.


End file.
